She glanced over at me as we walked, her face calm in the late afternoon sun.

“You don’t have to come by every single day, Garrett,” she said quietly.

“I know that,” I said.

“I’ll come by at seven in the morning to bring the milk and take out the trash.

If you want me to go after that, I’ll walk home.”

She didn’t say no.

She just kept walking beside me, her arms swinging loosely at her sides.

We reached the far bend of the pond, where the oak leaves were beginning to turn gold at the edges.